She was a Missouri girl who grew up on tornados and married far too young to a man who knew only how to be cruel. It took her years to tear herself away from him, running -- always running. I did not understand, as a child, why we were always moving.

But once she found the Ocean she could never leave its side again. She loved roses and irises and the great wide Pacific, and she was wise enough to know when to teach me and when to leave me to discover the truth on my own. She was always there for me, though, when I really needed her. She was, always, so beautiful, with enough love in her to fill all the oceans of the world.

We scattered her ashes out at sea, just off the Catalina islands into the Ocean that she loved so much, and sometimes, on days like Mother's Day or the anniversery of her death, I will go down to the waves and toss her a bouquet of roses, although the waves always toss them back, laughing, as it to say "you silly girl, flowers are for the living."

I miss her.